


We ain't ashes

by HelenaHGWells



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Slow Burn, reference to infanticide, reference to murder, reference to past abuse, skinning/butchering animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaHGWells/pseuds/HelenaHGWells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl thinks back to the last interaction he had with Carol. He’s been testy with her lately; irritable about her constant playacting. Why had he carried a grudge instead of talking to her? Surely he’d learned by now that you don’t let things fester, not in this world. Not when you never know if you’re going to see the next day. But with Carol lately, he’d been biting his tongue and stewing. Things had grown… complicated between them. The air was thick with tension now, filled with so many things unsaid; things she wouldn’t tell him, things he didn’t know how to say. Now maybe he’d never get the chance.</p><p>Post arrival in Alexandria- this is cannon up until the herd reaches the community (6x06). All Caryl all the time (with a sprinkling of Richonne for good measure).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trying

**Daryl**

 

For half a second there, Alexandria had almost seemed like everything they were promised. Safety, security, community. Right away it was clear why they were needed in this apparent utopia; the inhabitants didn’t have a clue what it took to survive in this new world. Most have them had only seen the occasional walker from a safe distance. They don't know how to fight, how to shoot, don't even understand why they would need to. They're all just like so much cattle lining up for the slaughter.

 

Was that why Daryl had decided he wanted to stay; to try and help? He hadn’t cared about anyone outside of himself and his brother for most of his life; no one ever looked out for him, so why should he give a shit about anyone else? Most folks would just as soon spit on him as help him. Redneck trash. Still, he’d gone hunting for his group when they were holed up at the quarry, even though most of them had made it clear they didn’t like him and would prefer it if he wasn’t around. Even though he brought them meat. He’d worked hard to protect them, even though most of them couldn’t even spare him a kind word. Only Carol seemed to really see him; to think he was worth anything. Maybe that’s why he’d stayed; why he’d tried; because she was the first person to ever believe he was someone worth knowing.

 

He was different now, he knew. They all were. Those who had survived from those early days, and those who they’d picked up on the way, they were a family now. He’d lost Merle but found a brother in Rick. He’d put himself on the line for Carl and the Lil’ Asskicker a thousand times. He kept hunting and made sure they were all fed. And now, in their new safe haven, he’d go out and find more people like them, bring them back to safety, to join their community.

 

That was a big shift in him. It was one thing to be loyal to his family. It was another to accept this new community. Most of the people he’d never spoken to; they avoided eye contact with him, they looked at him with the same distrust that his family had back before they really knew him. So why this selfless drive to help; to be part of something?

 

He was trying to claw his way back from somewhere dark and desparate. After the prison, after he thought he’d lost everyone; after Beth disappearing and that group of assholes he was travelling with nearly killing Rick and Carl and Michonne; after nearly losing Carol when they went looking for Beth, being willing to leave Noah to be walker food because the kid had put Carol’s life in danger; after they’d got Carol back and lost Beth forever…

 

Carol was right; life now, it just consumes you. But he didn’t want it to. When Rick said they had to pretend like they were the Walking Dead, Daryl had felt nothing but revulsion. Rick was all about survival, and maybe Daryl was being unrealistic, but he had his principles. He wasn’t willing to do whatever it takes to survive; there had to be limits. The line kept moving for Rick, but there were some lines Daryl wouldn’t cross. Lines Rick and Carol had already gone past. Actions they’d already resigned themselves to committing.

 

For a minute there, back in Atlanta when he was ready to leave Noah to die, Carol had pleaded with him to help. Carol, who had tried to shoot the boy just a few hours earlier; who was willing to do whatever it takes to keep them safe, never mind who got hurt in the process. But she didn’t want _him_ to do whatever it takes. She didn’t want _him_ to get burned up. She could be callous and calculating, but she wanted him to stay that same good man who had searched for her daughter non-stop even though everyone else including herself thought it was futile. She would have killed Noah, but she didn’t want him to do that. She would cross that line so no one else would have to.

 

Maybe that’s why he’s trying here; because it would be so easy to devolve into nihilism, but Carol had begged him not to. She saw herself as burned up and gone, but she’d pushed him to keep trying, like he was still salvageable. Maybe he’s trying now enough for the both of them.

 

He’s got to; Carol’s been different since they came to this place. Her false smiles and her conservative dress and her faux-housewife demeanor grate on him. She’s a chameleon, always adapting to her circumstances, figuring out who she needs to be to keep herself alive. To keep her family safe. They joke about it; this person she puts on every day, this weird caricature of her former self. But he hates it. It’s not who she is. She plays the part because she doesn’t trust anyone here. Right as he’s trying to really make a go of it; start over like they said they would. He’s going out with Aaron looking for people to bring back. He’s trying to build a community, even as the Alexandria locals look at him like he’s trash. And they smile at Carol like she’s one of their own, as she lies and manipulates to keep her family safe.

 

Daryl understands why she has to do it. It’s the same reason he can’t stay inside the walls; has to be out there doing something. They each have their own ways of dealing. But she said she was going to try. She said that. _We ain’t ashes_ , he’d told her, and she’d nodded and said she’d try. But maybe what she’d meant was, _you’re not ashes, not yet, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you that way._

She’s not trying; not starting over. But she’s trying to make it so the rest of them can.

 

Carol used to have hope; even losing Sophia didn’t break her. Maybe it’s because she’d always kept her expectations low; had Ed beat it into her, the idea that she wasn’t worth anything, shouldn’t hope for much. Daryl understood that. He’d lived the same way for most of his life, first from his dad, then from Merle. He’d never expected much from himself. But now he has a family, and he can’t help but hope. He has something to fight for, and after losing Beth so brutally he’s just that much more determined to fight so they don’t lose anyone else.

 

Carol’s different. He doesn’t know what had happened to her after she was banished from the prison, but evidently it was a lot. He knew something bad had happened with Lizzie and Myka; something so bad she wouldn’t even talk to him about it. She’d told him about Karen and David; explained why. She wasn’t apologetic; she did what she thought she had to. She did it because her feelings- her soul- didn’t matter to her as much as ensuring her family was safe. She didn’t care if she went to hell. She’d make the tough calls so no one else had to. So what call did she have to make with those little girls? What was so bad that she couldn’t talk about it- not even with him? It was bad enough that she’d tried to leave again; of her own volition this time. Banish herself from their group. That's how full of shame she was. That's how little she thinks she's worth now. If he hadn’t caught her that night, he’s certain she would have disappeared without so much as a goodbye, and he never would have seen her again.

 

The thought makes his heart hurt. He misses the old Carol; the one who would tease him and flirt outrageously to make him uncomfortable. The one who was kind to him and gave him unconditional acceptance. The one who believed him when he promised that everything would be ok, and who stuck by him even when it wasn’t.

 

This new Carol was brittle, and sharp, and world-weary. This Carol wouldn’t- _couldn’t_ \- let herself feel the pain of everything she’d seen and done. This Carol had given up hope.

 

Once, she could tell him anything; now, he’s never sure which Carol he’s even talking to. He sees her true self less and less, masked behind fake smiles and cookies, and furtive plots to take control of Alexandria. He was trying to hope for the best, while she was planning for the worst.

 

He wanted her to try. He wanted her to trust him; to tell him what had pushed her to the brink and over the edge. He wanted to find a way to help her get back. He wanted them to start over. He wanted her to believe in all the promise and possibility of Alexandria.

  
But then, it had all gone to shit. She had been right not to hope after all.


	2. Masks

**Carol**

 

She finished fastening the little pearl buttons of the the cream blouse that had been gifted to her the day before by a well-meaning Alexandrian, and pulled her (also gifted) teal cashmere cardigan over her shoulders. These were the items deemed essential for donation by her new neighbours after so many months living out in the world as it slowly went to hell: smart clean clothes; a big house with down comforters; a new gas stove. This was what was supposed to pull them all back to civilization.

 

She’d slipped on her disguise immediately. It only took her a minute to get the measure of this place; these people. They asked her family to give up their weapons because no one carried firearms within the town walls. They didn’t understand safety to be a constant state of vigilance and readiness. They actually believed that there was a time when they were able to let their guard down; that when the gates closed, they shut the harsh cruel world away and could go about their lives without fear.

 

As soon as Carol realized the kind of place they were living in, she knew she had to get the upper hand on these people. Alexandria was safe enough; safer than any other options they had right now. But like hell was she going to follow their foolish rules, based on ideals that were entirely ignorant of the world as it truly existed. She would play along, hide her true nature, gain their trust, and ensure they didn’t do anything stupid to endanger her family.

 

It was easy enough to appear weak and feeble; they hadn’t had much in the way of food or water since they lost the prison, and she’d dislocated her shoulder and torn most of her muscles when she and Daryl fell off a bridge in Atlanta. Not to mention the hit-and-kidnapping by the tyrannical hospital police. She guessed she must have been unconscious for at least a day before they wrote her off as a lost cause, discontinued treatment, and then Beth somehow woke her up. She didn’t know what kinds of internal damage she’d suffered; by all accounts it seemed she had been extremely lucky. But she was still stiff and sore and she moved awkwardly. She was not in good shape for a walker attack. They got off the road not a minute too soon.

 

She looked forward to the opportunity to recuperate in relative safety, behind the walls of Alexandria. To eat a plentiful supply of food, to let her bones rest and her muscles rebuild. To figure out what kind of a threat these people might pose. Was it just ignorance and naivety, or something more sinister? Could this be another Woodberry?

 

Daryl looked at her like she’d grown a second head when she walked out onto the porch where he was cleaning his crossbow. He had hardly been inside the house; hadn’t showered, hadn’t changed his clothes. He had, however, skinned a possum on the front steps; the neighbours’ eyes fairly popping out of their heads.

 

She understood his mistrust of this place; she felt it too. But his gruff exterior wasn’t going to win him any popularity contests, and they needed to try to fit in here; to keep up appearances. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just Daryl, but Sasha’s been staring daggers at everyone; Maggie’s got her grief over Beth still written all over her face; Abraham’s cartoonish red facial hair and Popeye-esque biceps have everyone staring; and Rick looks about ready to shoot someone if they come at him the wrong way. But she knows how to blend in; she can do that enough for all of them. She’s well practiced at this; pretending to be someone she’s not, hiding the miserable truth of her life from polite company. _Thank you Ed for preparing me so well for post-apocalyptic life,_ she thinks bitterly.

 

Still, she tried to cajole Daryl into making a bit of an effort; threatening to hose him down in his sleep if he doesn’t take a shower voluntarily and let her clean up his clothes. She hoped a little teasing would bring some levity to the situation, pull him out of that shell he’s retreated into, curled up moodily on the porch. He sniped back that she looked ridiculous, and a satisfied smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. If they can still joke, they’ll be ok.

 

\--

 

She hadn’t expected Daryl to change so dramatically. To go from complete distrust to buying into the vision of Alexandria so completely that he’s ready to become its newest emissary. And she’s glad, in a way. She wants him to have hope. And everyone else seems to be settling in too; Michonne has been pushing them all to try with this place, and Rick’s heeding her counsel, as he tends to. She and Rick went from squirrelling away guns from the armory and plotting in the forest, to Rick putting on the uniform of a sheriff and trying to lead this town. Daryl had made his feelings about their plotting clear, but they didn’t get to be principled right now, not when things were so precarious.

 

It’s not that she doesn’t trust this place. And it’s good that Rick’s moving himself into a position of authority, and that Daryl will be the one choosing who else joins this community; vetting any newcomers and assessing their loyalties and threat-potential. It’s just that her best opportunity to protect this place- to protect her family- comes from her ability to influence and manipulate the town’s inhabitants. And that means staying undercover. It means not letting her guard down and not settling in. It means playing a role and keeping up her deception, so that everyone else will be safe. It’s a sacrifice she makes willingly. It’s the least bad thing she’s ever had to do.

 

Daryl hates it. She knows this. The little jabs about her casseroles and her blouses and her little band of soccer moms are mostly in jest, but there’s been a tension between them since he started going on runs with Aaron. She knew he didn’t like all the subterfuge; the plans they made with Rick about how to overthrow Alexandria- if necessary- but since he’s fully embraced the idea of this community, he seems to be genuinely holding it against her that she hasn’t. Or that’s what he must interpret her continued play-acting to mean. In truth, she’s as invested in the survival of this place as he is. But in order to ensure that, she has to keep putting on the mask. Just like he has to keep heading out recruiting. He can’t stay within Alexandria’s walls; can’t pretend to fit into this life; can’t deal with the looks and the incessant suburban humdrum. But she knows how to use it; to manipulate it; to keep people alive.

 

Still, the growing rift between them is painful to acknowledge. After Rick kicked her out of the prison, she thought Daryl might coming looking for her. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help feeling a surprised hurt when he never did. She assumed he must feel as Rick did; Daryl was principled and he wouldn’t agree with what she’d done to Karen and David. Maybe he thought she deserved to be thrown out. Maybe he hated her. In some ways, she was glad not to have been there to see the disappointment on his face when Rick had told him what she’d done.

 

But then, after Terminus when she’d found him again, she saw how wrong she’d been. She’d approached the group warily, unsure if they’d be happy to see her or if they’d despise her for killing two of their own. But Daryl’s face when they made eye contact told her everything she needed to know. She had never felt so happy in her entire life as when he dashed towards her, closing the distance between them in seconds to throw his arms around her. She’d never seen him like that before; never once seen him hug another living person. It wasn’t until that moment when she was flooded with relief and joy that she realized how scared she had been that she’d lost him forever. Lost all of them.

 

But they’d forgiven her. Or they’d accepted what she’d done. She kept back the story of what happened to the girls; partly out of respect for Tyreese’s wishes and partly for her own benefit. She couldn’t forgive herself for Lizzie and Mika; how could she expect anyone else to? How could Daryl ever look at her the same way if he knew?

 

She’d given him hints; said as much as she was able to. He knew it was bad; bad enough that she didn’t want to talk about it and had to try to forget it. He’d never pushed her for more information than that. But he knew that it changed her. She felt burned up; everything that she was, consumed by this world. But he told her they weren’t ashes. He asked her to try. So here she was, trying. Trying to make this place safe so that everyone could start over. Trying to make sure they survived. Doing whatever she had to, to keep her family safe.

 

But nothing’s safe any more. Not really, and not forever. And you can’t trust anyone.

 

The community’s ideals of recruitment and providing a safe haven for people from the outside had fatally backfired on them, leading a group of murderous animals back to their home. Her people knew how to take care of themselves, but not the Alexandrians. In spite of herself she’d started to grow attached to the foolish women who she baked and gossiped and exchanged cooking tips with. She certainly hadn’t wanted any of them to die; not even the insipid Shelly Neidermeyer and her goddamn pasta maker. And certainly not Erin. For a minute there, after she’d smothered the woman’s cries as her guts spilled out onto the ground, as she slipped her knife into the soft flesh at the base of the woman’s skull so she wouldn’t turn, Carol wondered how she could keep doing this. She was playing the part of the innocent housewife, but she felt like she was also playing the role of the emotionless pragmatist, ready to step up and do what was necessary even if it was unforgivable. She felt like she had played so many parts, put on so many masks, that she had no idea which was really her any more. Maybe none of them. Maybe Carol really was just gone; consumed. Maybe it didn’t even matter, so long as her people survived.

  
She thinks with guilt of her promise to Daryl; of her assurance that she’d try. But maybe it’s too late for her anyway. It’s not too late for him; she knows that much. Daryl’s a good man; he’ll do what’s right, even if he can’t always do what’s necessary. But that’s why she’s here. So long as people like Daryl are around, the world is worth saving. And so long as she’s around, people like him would get to live.


	3. No good options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update- not really a full chapter but I wanted to get something posted today! I haven't seen tonight's episode yet, but I'm diverging away from canon pretty much as of two weeks ago, so it's not a big deal.
> 
> Next chapter will actually have some speaking rather than just internal monologue!

**Daryl**

 

He knew as soon as he heard the gunfire that something was terribly wrong. Even more wrong than the impromptu walker parade he was currently participating in. It was hard to say for sure that the sound was coming from home, but he knew in his bones it was the case. He took all of thirty seconds to consider his options. Stay here on this agonizingly slow journey, moving inch by inch past Alexandria and away from the town, the biggest herd he’d ever seen lumbering after them; and then maybe returning hours later to find Alexandria overrun, ransacked, everyone dead. Or leave now, drive as fast as the bike will go, let Sasha and Abraham lead the herd, and make it back to the town in ten minutes.

 

He takes quick mental inventory of who’s back there. He thinks of Carol first of course, though he knows she can handle herself. But she’s still weak from the injuries she sustained in Atlanta; they’ve only had a brief respite in Alexandria, and he’s noticed the way she avoids carrying anything heavy, and how she winces when she has to twist or reach. Maggie’s a good fighter, and Rosita too. Tara can hold her own, but she’s been off-kilter since her accident. Carl’s a good shot but he’s still a kid. Daryl still doesn’t know what to make of Morgan; he’s clearly a capable fighter, but fighting seems to be something he shies away from. Their strongest people are on the outside, and there’s a whole town full of completely untrained and terrified people back home. He doesn’t like these odds. He’s thoughts go back to Carol. Maybe she can handle it, but he should have her back.

 

A second later he’s gunning the engine, ignoring Sasha and Abraham’s protests as he quickly peels off and bolts for home. They’ll be fine; all they have to do is keep driving slow and straight. They’ll be fine.

 

But the blast of that horn coming from home; that’s not fine. That’s setting his heart pounding and his bike can’t move fast enough. Something terrible is happening and he’s not there to help. _Of course_ it would happen today; nothing ever goes the way it’s supposed to. It never just goes awry; it fucks up in the most spectacular way imaginable. Every goddamn time. They’re always pushed to breaking point and then a bit further. A few days ago they’d discovered a quarry full of walkers just waiting to erupt and spill out, heading straight for them. It had seemed lucky that they’d found this hidden peril just in time to do something about it, but of course not in time to be truly effective. Now they’re left scrambling, hoping their plan would hold up, no idea if they were going to make it out. And now this. They couldn’t have that many lucky escapes; if the last few months had taught him anything, it was that fortune seemed to favor them a little, but not enough. Not all of them had made it out of the prison, and they’d lost people on the way. They’d made it out of Terminus but not all of them survived for long. If they made it out of this day of the dead walk, who would they lose? The twisting in the pit of his stomach tells him it would be people back home. They couldn’t all make it out of this alive. They never did.

 

He thinks back to the last interaction he had with Carol. He’s been testy with her lately; irritable about her constant playacting. Why had he carried a grudge instead of talking to her? Surely he’d learned by now that you don’t let things fester, not in this world. Not when you never know if you’re going to see the next day. He’d let himself get lulled into the way of life at Alexandria; he’d fooled himself into thinking survival didn’t have to be a daily struggle. He’d looked at the walls and the houses and the dog park and the morning joggers- still untouched by the hell in the outside world- and he’d let himself believe that it was real. He’d never been the kind of man to engage in emotional drama; he’d always steared well clear of the people it seemed to cling to- Lori and Andrea and Shane. He was someone who didn’t speak unless it was necessary, and always said what he meant. But with Carol lately, he’d been biting his tongue and stewing. Things had grown… complicated between them. It was clear she was going through some fundamental transitions of her own, and the air between them was thick with tension now, filled with so many things unsaid; things she wouldn’t tell him, things he didn’t know how to say. Now maybe he’d never get the chance.

 

It’s Rick’s voice on the radio that pulls him up short. Something else has gone wrong, he’s in trouble at the RV. Suddenly Daryl’s aware that they’re all potentially screwed right now- every one of them. And he’s hurtling back home, spurred on by the certainty that it’s Alexandria that’s going to see the casualties, but maybe it’s out here, maybe it’s his absence that will be the determining factor. Maybe he goes, and Rick dies. Maybe he stays, and it’s Carl, Judith, Carol…

 

There are no good options. He chews hard on his lip and he flies down the road feeling ready to scream in frustration. There’s no right call that he can see. So he does the only thing that makes sense. He stays where he should be; with the people he’s supposed to be helping, to make sure that they at least stay safe. And he hopes that Rick’s ok, and that he’s right; that their people at Alexandria can handle themselves. Carol took on Terminus single-handed, he tells himself reassuringly. Whatever’s going on back at the town, she can handle it. And she has Maggie, and Morgan, and Rosita and Tara and Carl and Spencer. He has to believe they can handle whatever’s going on; that they’ll be ok.

  
They’ve got to be.


	4. We don't have to kill people

**Carol**

 

_You don’t have to kill people. You don’t like it._

 

That’s what Morgan had said to her.

 

What the hell did liking it have to do with anything? These animals killed because they liked it. She did what was necessary. Of course they have to kill. They _have_ to.

 

She sits on the porch, staring at Shelly Niedermeyer’s body, unable to wrench her mind away from the conversation they’d been having just hours ago. Celery soup and pasta makers. Now she’s dead. Carol sits there with ‘W’ branded on her head, and an ‘A’ stamped by little Sam on the porch. Who was she? How could she do these things? Have an argument about goddamn pasta and then an hour later shoot half a dozen men in cold blood.

 

_You don’t like it_ , Morgan had said. Like she needed to be convinced.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take them long to clear the bodies away, which is surprising given how many there are. Fifteen of the invaders, eleven of their own. Well, eleven Alexandrians, which Carol supposes does make them ‘her own’. If she’s staying here, if she’s going to be part of this community, then these are her people now too. They might be children; they might be sheltered and naive, and surely many of them wouldn’t make it. But she’d still fight for them.

 

They should have taken this place sooner. Deanna started listening to Rick but not soon enough to save her husband. If Rick had taken control after that disastrous town meeting, maybe they would have been more prepared for something like this. At the very least, they should have been carrying guns. As it was, they’d been like lambs to the slaughter- easily picked off by the wolves.

 

“Carol, you’re hurt!” a voice exclaims behind her.

 

She turns to see Tobin coming towards her, staring in concern at her shirt. She looks down to see the blood soaked through it, touches it wonderingly; is it the blood blood of one of the killers? Or is it Erin’s?

 

“It’s not mine,” she mumbles in response.

 

He takes her listlessness for shock, stears her gently away from the pile of bodies amassing by the graveyard which has been growing at an alarming rate.

 

He and his people arrived back inside the walls shortly after the attack, staring in horror at the carnage around them. No one seemed to know where anyone else was; Rick, Michonne, and Glenn had disappeared; Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham were out there leading a herd of walkers with no backup.

 

What a goddamn mess. Now they were all in danger, the wall was compromised, and there was no safe haven for her family to return to if they managed to make it back from the herd. When they managed to make it back, she corrects herself firmly.

 

Still it’s hard to quell the note of panic that’s been sounding in the back of her mind since the others showed up with the news of how badly things had already gone wrong.

 

She leaves Tobin and the others to the cleanup. One of the good things about playing this role is that no one expects her to be strong; she’s allowed to be completely horrified by the violence and mayhem that had erupted her today. And she is, truly, but she can’t let herself be. She’s kept it together long enough to take out the immediate threat, now she retreats to clean herself up, to gather herself and be ready to face what’s coming next; ready to help her people on the outside.

 

She finds Carl back inside the house, quickly fills him in, squeezes his shoulder in reassurance, telling him his dad will surely be back soon. Others have returned; the rest of their people must be right behind them. He doesn’t seem worried, and she’s suddenly jealous again of his youth; that by growing up in this hell, it all seems normal and therefore surmountable. He believes they’ll make it through this, because they always do. Still, his eyes stray with concern to her blood-stained blouse and she takes the hint, hurrying upstairs to remove it; suddenly desperate to be clean.

 

A stranger stares back at her from the bathroom mirror. There’s still a swipe of blood on her forehead from where she painted her ‘W’ disguise. Erin’s blood has soaked through her shirt and pants and covers her arms and torso. She turns the taps on full and starts scrubbing furiously at her arms, her body, her face, washing away so much blood. The water never seems to stop running red, and she can feel herself losing it, and now really isn’t the time. She has to keep it together. She _has_ to.

 

She grips the sides of the porcelain bowl to stop her hands from shaking; takes a breath; lets it out slowly; sucks in another gulp of air; counts the seconds like her support worker at the shelter taught her, in another lifetime when she ran away from Ed after a particularly severe beating. She’s an expert at appearing calm when she’s actually terrified; she’d been wearing a mask for years before the world ended.

 

And right now it’s more important than ever that she gets herself under control. Deanna’s a mess, walking around with a glazed look in her eyes; the infirmary’s full of terrified injured townspeople; Morgan’s going around taking prisoners instead of executing the remaining animals on sight like they need to… She’s gotta keep things together here so they can help her people get back home.

 

\--

 

But things start to look even more bleak when Rick arrives back, with an alarming number of walkers trailing behind him. Within minutes, the area outside the gate is five walkers deep, and she understands with perfect clarity that they need to get their remaining people back inside now, or they’ll be trapped out there. Michonne made it back shortly before Rick, dragging a couple of Alexandrians with them. But Glenn is nowhere to be seen, and the last they heard, Daryl, Sasha and Abe were still leading the remaining half of the herd away from Alexandria.

 

“We’ve gotta bring them back in,” she hisses at Rick when she gets him alone for a second.

 

“They’re only five miles out, they were supposed to take the herd 15,” he shakes his head.

 

“It’s gonna have to be enough,” she tells him firmly. Rick might be willing to risk their lives out there, but she wasn’t.

 

“They’re gonna made it back,” is all he says in response.

 

She stares at him, dumbfounded, before growling at him “Rick, call them back in.”

 

“I can’t,” he looks at her despairing. “Tried to raise them on the walkies; they’re not answering.”

 

It’s the worst answer he could have given her. She tells herself there’s a million reasons that they might not be answering. Maybe they’d got further than Rick thought and the walkies were out of range. Maybe they’d dropped the radios in a scuffle. Maybe they were busy fighting their way back. Maybe they were trying to move stealthily and couldn’t talk. There were a million reasons Daryl might not answer his walkie. Didn’t mean he was dead. It couldn’t mean that.

 

Rick puts a steadying hand on her shoulder, but he looks as devastated as she does. She shakes her head slowly, drawing herself up and squaring her shoulders defiantly.

 

“They’re gonna make it back,” she echoes him in firm agreement.

 

He nods silently, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

 

“In the meantime, we gotta get this place under control. Everyone’s terrified, Deanna’s checked out, Betsy already killed herself…” Carol shakes her head. “We can’t help our people if we can’t help ourselves. We need to get this town in order.”

 

He nods, taking her lead and squaring up, pushing his hear back from his face, stealing himself.

 

“I’m gonna need you,” he mutters to her.

  
She nods silently and follows him out.


	5. Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love, folks! This is a pretty long update, and I'm sticking closer to cannon than I anticipated so there's no Carol/Daryl reunion yet. I'm not super hopeful about the direction the show seems to be going now though, so I'm prepared to veer off in my own direction at any moment!

**Daryl**

It takes an eternity to reach mile twenty, but they finally do, and Daryl is already starting to gun his engine as they get close.

 

“Try to keep up!” he radios back to Sasha and Abraham as he steadily increases the distance between himself and the walkers, heading for the turning where they’re supposed to double back and head for home.

 

“Daryl, have you _looked_ at this car?” Sasha’s incredulous voice crackles back over the radio. “Believe me, we wanna get back there too.”

 

He doesn’t like her knowing tone, but he’s not going to get into it right now. All that matters is that they move, fast. Or as fast as that heap of junk they’re driving will allow. Or maybe he’ll just scout ahead and they can catch up; after all, he’d left them earlier. Though he doesn’t know what he’d be heading back into. Maybe nothing; maybe the people back home have already got everything under control. Or maybe the eery silence in the wake of that awful blaring horn speaks volumes about how much shit hit the fan back there.

 

Radio silence has accompanied the cutting of the horn. They haven’t even been able to raise Rick. Should they go back via the spot that he said he was parking the RV, make sure he’s ok? Should they head straight home? Could Sasha and Abe move any slower if they tried? Daryl bites back his frustration and tries to resist flying on ahead of them. He just needs to know that they’re all ok. That she’s ok.

 

The gunshots come out of nowhere and before he knows it he’s spinning out of control, hopelessly exposed and crashing to the ground as he’s split from Sasha and Abe. Panic shoots through him, strong enough to dull the pain in his arm from where he hit the ground. The adrenaline is surging through him as he drags his bike upright and throws himself back towards the road, away from his attackers. He has no idea who these people are, what they want, if he’s still in one piece; there’s a dull roar of pain that tells him he’s not fine, but he’s still moving which is all that matters. He can’t die out here, not after everything they’ve been through; not after getting the herd safely away from Alexandria; not when they’re needed back home.

 

He keeps as low as he can and weaves to dodge the bullets that are still flying, but he’s lost Sasha and Abe and he can’t stop and look for them, not with these assholes still on him; he’s too exposed. The only chance he has is to gun it and run, hope that the other two can take care of themselves, try to lose their attackers and meet up later. Speed is the only card he has to play.

 

It doesn’t take him long to lose them; he builds up enough of a lead and then slips off into the trees, watching silently as the car tailing him speeds past in the direction they assume he was headed. It’s safer to move through the trees on foot, but he can’t leave his bike, and that means pushing it. The machine weighs a tonne, and he’s suddenly horribly aware of the pain in his arm where he fell. He slips his jacket off gingerly, panting heavily as he tries not to cry out when he twists to slip off his shirt sleeve. It’s not as bad as it could be; he doesn’t think it’s broken. But that’s small comfort when he’s dizzy with the pain and exhausted from pushing his bike and he feels ready to just collapse on the ground.

 

But he’s gotta find Sasha and Abe; gotta get back home. He’s vulnerable in this state; there are thousands of walkers out in these woods, hopefully heading in another direction but who knows; there’s no one leading them away any more. If he’s not careful he’ll die out here. Twenty miles from home. From people who need him.

 

He’ll just have to hide his bike and circle back to where he lost Sasha and Abe on foot, hoping they managed to shake the assholes who were firing at them. Who are these people, and what do they want? Are these the same people who set the traps in the canning warehouse where he and Aaron had nearly died on one of their recruiting missions? He’d felt so certain when he’d told Rick they needed to bring more people to Alexandria, and then they’d found Morgan and he’d felt buoyed by success, even more sure that his new occupation was the right one. And now strangers were lying in wait to ambush them, trying to kill them. Was this the norm, now? And the Morgans of the world were just the isolated few? Maybe Rick had been right… And yet, he truly believed that in order to be strong they needed more people, and that they could be a safe haven for the good ones. What would’ve happened to them if Hershel had refused to take them in on the farm? Or if Abe and Rosita had refused to help Sasha and Maggie and Bob? But then there was Terminus… If the accounts of those cannibals were to be believed, they’d tried to be a safe haven at first, and their generosity had cost them everything. Still, Daryl isn’t willing to give up on his new calling. Aaron recruited him for this job because he could tell the good from the bad. That’s why he’d brought Morgan back. And it’s why he’s going to take out any one of these murderous assholes who came at him and Sasha and Abe, should any of them be fool enough to cross him.

 

He knows Carol’s of the same mind as Rick. She doesn’t even trust the Alexandrians, let alone others from the outside. Or rather, she doesn’t think the Alexandrians are ready to do what’s necessary, and Daryl agrees with her there. The people back home, they’re all soft. They’ve never had to live in the world as it is now; they don’t know what it takes and they’re not ready. That why they look at him in suspicion and fear, like he’s a wild feral thing. That’s Carol’s been playacting this whole time and telling them nice stories, filling their heads with the lies they want to believe.

 

His chest tightens in fear once again. What’s happening back there? Was it naive to hope that Carol and Maggie and the others could handle things on their own, when the Alexandrians were mostly useless in a crisis at best, and a liability at worst? He has to get back there, now.

 

Rick had talked about how he and Lori used to drive through neighbourhoods like Alexandria, back Before, and say to themselves, _someday_. Daryl never thought that. He never drove through neighbourhoods like his new home. He would have been as unwelcome there as a raccoon raiding a garbage can. He never dreamed of someday living somewhere like that. The only home he’d ever known burned down when he was a child, and after that he never dreamed of a life beyond the constant transience of his existence with Merle. Dreams would only lead to dashed hopes; he’d learned that the hard way early on in life.

 

If he’s honest, he truly doesn’t believe he ever would have amounted to anything if it wasn’t for the dead coming back to life. But in this world, in this life, he can be something. He can matter. He would never say he’s happy about the way things are now; he’s lost too much, and the threat of losing more looms daily. But at least not he has a purpose. He feels like he matters.

 

Rick will never understand that. He was a cop before, a protector, and now he’s a leader still. A bit of a dictator, perhaps, but that’s necessary in this world. And he got to be a dictator because people put him in that position; people trusted him to keep them safe. And he did. He did it on instinct, and he committed fully to the cause. But it took a long time for Daryl to become a leader, if that’s what he is now. He’d always been a drifter, following Merle from one dead-end town to another, working cash-in-hand just long enough to get them food and liquor, getting in fights, getting chased out of town, moving on to the next place, no plan, no purpose. He never believed he could be more than that.

 

Carol gets it. When she talked about becoming the person she was always supposed to be when they lived at the prison, he understood what she meant precisely. It’s probably one of the reasons he’s always connected with her so strongly; neither of them lived lives they were happy in Before, and neither could see a way out. Now, in the midst of all this death and destruction, they’d both been provided one. A second chance. An opportunity to be the kind of people they were meant to be, that they could have been, if circumstances had been different.

 

It’s why he’d said yes to Aaron’s offer with barely any hesitation. Because since he met this ragtag group of unlikely survivors, he’s finally found a place for himself; somewhere he belongs. And more than that, he’s found that he’s needed; that he’s important. And after losing the prison, and then nearly losing Carol, and losing Beth, he’s desperate for Alexandria to work. For all the hope and possibility of this new family and his place within it to come to fruition. He needs to become who he was meant to be.

 

\--

 

Nothing ever goes smoothly though; not that anything in this seemingly neverending day can be described as ‘going smoothly’ or ‘according to plan’. When he comes across Honey and Tina in the forest of ashes, he hesitates, lets his guard down for a second, and that’s all D needs to clock him. He comes to again he doesn’t know how many hours later. He vaguely remembers darkness and a fire, so presumably a night has passed. An entire night. He was supposed to be back in Alexandria by now. If they needed him yesterday, maybe today was too late? And there’s nothing he can do; these people have him bound, they’ve taken his crossbow, and the guy waves a gun in his face when he tries to speak and explain. They’re scared, he can see that. And desperate. And they think he’s something that he’s not; they think he’s a Bad Guy, and they’re too scared to listen to reason. He tries a few times, against his better judgement. Pushes the guy so he’s pointing that gun again and shoving Daryl roughly ahead of him, talking about trading Daryl for their freedom, presumably to those assholes who shot at him. With every step Daryl knows he’s heading into a worse situation, maybe about to meet the roadside attackers face to face, and then he’ll never get away. And he’s got someplace he’s got to be. They may need him back home. His best bet is to watch and wait for his moment, and run.

 

He gets his chance soon enough; they’re distracted by the little blonde one, Tina, collapsing, and he grabs the bag with the crossbow and bolts, heading back towards his bike, radioing Sasha and Abe the first chance he gets, desperate to regroup and get back home to his family. He’s exhausted from running, sore from the crash the day before, he hasn’t eaten and the only thing he’s had to drink is the little water they gave him earlier. He’s in no shape for a fight, but here comes a walker, lumbering towards him, slow and steady, half-decayed with his rib cage jutting out. He rolls over towards the bag, checking on the walkers progress as he grabs for his crossbow. The walkers moving a little faster than he thought, and the crossbow’s too big for this bag, it’s been jammed in awkwardly and no matter how hard he’s tugging at it, it’s not coming loose. He becomes increasingly panicked as the walker closes on him and he still can’t get his weapon free. He can’t die like this. He only just managed to get away and he _needs_ to get back home…

 

He just about manages to wrestle it free in time and sends an arrow straight into the walker’s head. As it drops, a glint of something white on it’s back catches his eye. He peers over the log he’s crouched behind for a better look. The walkers is all grown over with moss and flora, like it was still for a long time, trapped somewhere maybe, and the forest started to claim it back. Sure enough, there’s a cherokee rose right on the thing’s back. A symbol of love and hope in a time of desolation and despair.

 

Daryl’s always been a big believer in signs. Merle always thought it was stupid; that there was no special meaning hidden in the everyday all around us, waiting for us to see it and figure out our destiny. And maybe he was right; but Daryl had always believed anyway. It’s why he brought the flower to Carol when Sophia was missing. He had wanted to comfort her; to give her hope. And maybe it was all just sentimental bullshit; it hadn’t helped Sophia in the end. But it’d helped Carol. And a beautiful friendship had grown out of that moment. It was in large part because of Carol that he’d ever started to believe that he could be a real and valued part of this group; that they could be his family. And now here’s that rose again, maybe letting him know that he mustn’t give up; that his people need him. Maybe that Carol needs him. He has to get back home.

 

Not two seconds later, he discovers the insulin. _Shit_. Despite what people might assume about him, based on his looks and their prejudice, Daryl’s always tried to be a standup guy. He’s got a code of sorts; he’s loyal and he believes that if you do good, it’ll come back to you. He certainly doesn’t believe in letting innocent people die because you stole their medicine, even if they did knock you out. Honey and Tina and D thought he was something he wasn’t. They thought he was a Bad Guy. Well he isn’t gonna prove them right. He’ll return the medicine, and maybe the universe will repay him with some good karma. He feels certain that the rose is some kind of sign, and if his people are going to be ok, if Carol is going to be ok, it’s going to require some karmic balancing on his part. So he takes back the medicine.

 

He never meant to get sucked into more drama. These people are clearly nothing but trouble. But it’s clear that the people hunting him, the people they thought Daryl belonged to, have caught up to them. And he can’t just leave them. What would be the point in getting back to Alexandria if he sacrificed all his ideals to do so? He’s supposed to be a recruiter now; finding what good people are left and bringing them back to safety. He’s not gonna leave these people to die; that’s not the kind of man he is. It can’t be.

 

“We thought you were with them,” D stares at him, incredulous. “We knock you out, tie you up; why the hell’d you come back?”

 

Because he believes that they’re good people at heart. Because he can’t stand to see innocent people hurt. Because he has a code. Because he’s trying to be worthy of the responsibility Aaron gave him. Because he wants to believe in everything that Alexandria could be, and that he can be part of that. Because he needs them to be ok and he’s willing to make any deals with any gods to ensure that.

 

“Maybe I’m stupid too,” is all that he replies.

 

\--

 

They talk about the place they came from, where people will trade anything for safety. Where people give up everything they have just to know they’re safe, so they’re just existing.

 

“Ain’t nowhere safe any more,” he tells them. “Can’t no one promise that.”

 

But he thinks about his job as a recruiter, and how he promises just that; a safe place with walls to keep the walkers out, and food and water. He wonders if it’s still safe. He thinks about that awful endless horn and the herd of walkers that broke off, heading for Alexandria.

 

He’s even more anxious to get back now, but there’s still just one disaster after another. The discovery of dead friends, a stupid senseless accident, and now Tina’s dead too. He helps D dig a grave while Honey stares vacantly and cries. He’ll always bury the dead; make sure people can pay their respects. What kind of people are they if they can’t even do that? What’s the point in living if they lose something so basic? Besides, he’s wondering about them; Honey and D, the two that are left. Maybe this whole detour happened for a reason. He’d thought about leaving Sasha and Abe to lead the herd alone and running back to Alexandria, but he’d changed his mind. What if that’s how things were always meant to be? If he was always meant to meet these people?

 

“Hey,” he calls to D as the other man shovels, digging the graves deep. He’s decided to ask the questions. “How many walkers you killed?”

 

D stares at him uncomprehending. “A lot. A couple dozen at least.”

 

“How many people you killed?”

 

“None.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why haven’t I killed anybody? Because if I did, there’d be no going back. No going back to how things were.”

 

It’s exactly how Daryl would have answered. It’s an answer that fits completely with his own code. He starts to think that maybe this really was meant to be; that cosmic forces have aligned to bring him to these two people. To allow him to bring them home.

 

“I’m from a place, where people are still like they were. More or less. Better or worse.”

 

He thinks of Rick as he says this; Rick who still thinks of Alexandria as us and them, but who’s still fighting to protect those people. He thinks of Maggie and Glenn, who refuse to stop believing in the best in people. He thinks of Michonne who has come so far, fought her way back from the edge and found herself again. He thinks of Carol. She’s done things that make her hate herself. Things that she can’t tell him. But she’s still Carol underneath it all. Everything she’s done, it’s been to protect the people she loves. That’s who Carol is, through and through. Taking on whatever she has to so that those she loves will survive. It’s who she’s always been.

 

\--

 

When they betray him, when he realises with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that that’s what’s going to happen, he’s flooded with bitterness. He did everything right. He did everything he was supposed to. He was a good person. He did the right thing, helped them, saved them, buried their dead. He was going to bring them back with him. Now they’re pointing a gun at him and taking his weapon, his bike.

 

“You gon’ go back? You’ll be safe?” he spits the words out with a sneer. “Ain’t nowhere safe no more.” The bitterness almost chokes him. “You gon’ kneal?”

 

How much time has he sacrificed to help these people? He’d put his life on the line to help them. And maybe the lives of Sasha and Abe and everyone back home who needed him And now they’re going to abandon him out here to walkers and to the men pursuing them, with no weapons and no way to protect himself.

 

They just keep saying they’re sorry. They have no idea.

 

“You’re gonna be,” he growls as they ride away. One way or another, he knows that’s true. You can’t survive alone in this world any more, and they just gave up the best chance of making it that they had. And if he comes across them again, he’ll make sure they know it.

 

He can practically hear Carol chastising him; why had he trusted these people? You can’t trust anyone now; they’re all out for what they can get. Never take your eye off them. Never let them get the upper hand. Definitely don’t tell them about your walled community. Has he screwed up horribly? He should be looking out for his people, for his family; putting them first. Not trying to help two loners who’d dump him and steal his gear the first chance they got. He should never have gone back with that insulin. He should’ve taken one look at that cherokee rose and run straight back to Alexandria.

  
Still, when he finds the truck hidden in the bushes, he has to wonder; maybe someone is looking out for him after all. Or maybe he’s just lucky. He ditched Rick, ditched Sasha and Abraham, completely failed at being a judge of good character trusted people who put his life in danger. He got too caught up in the possibility of this whole recruiting thing; of being somebody. And he failed bigtime. Well no more dreaming. If he’s really lucky, Sasha and Abe will be ok and this whole stupid detour won’t have cost their lives too. Maybe if they’re really really lucky, Alexandria will be there when he gets back.


	6. No limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting without properly proof-reading... This one got too long and I just had to get it up so I'd stop writing! Might have to edit with some corrections later- you've been warned!
> 
> Also, I've updated the tags with a warning for a graphic description of skinning animals.

**Carol**

 

She’s back at the camp just outside Atlanta. It’s late afternoon and quiet, the sun beginning its slow decent and the air starting to turn chilly. She knows this is a dream because Sophia is there sitting next to her at the camping table where they prepare their meals. She looks around and sees Lori talking to Shane on the other side of camp. Dale sits atop his RV, eyes on the horizon, while Andrea and Amy sit in its shade with T-dog and Jacqui. All these people are dead now, but for the moment, in this dream, they are still surviving, still living.

 

A rustle from the trees sets everyone on alert, but it’s Daryl who emerges from the bushes, crossbow in one hand and a string of rabbits and squirrels in the other. He glances around warily, uncomfortable with all the camp’s eyes on him. Even as they see he’s not a walker they still don’t completely relax. He’s not exactly one of them. He knows this. It’s why he spends so much time outside of camp.

 

“Where you been?” Shane demands, approaching him. “It’s safer if we all stick together.”

 

“Finding dinner,” Daryl responds with open disdain for Shane’s authority. He thrusts the string of dead animals towards Lori, who just barely manages to hide her alarm and revulsion. She knows they need to eat, and that Daryl’s hunt means their options extend beyond the canned beans and crackers they’re left with, but she’s not quite prepared for the reality of butchering little creatures that not so long ago might have been thought of as pets. Still, she manages to take the animals from Daryl without gagging, as he prepares to head back out on the hunt.

 

“What am I supposed to do with these?” she calls after him, at a loss.

 

Carol’s joined her friend now to take a closer look at the food. There’s a good amount of meat here, but the animals will all need to be skinned and cleaned. Lori’s clearly out of her depth, so Carol’s more than willing to take on the task. She hates to see other people feeling uncomfortable, and she doesn’t really mind getting her hands dirty. Plus, it’s good to be useful; she does as much of the cooking and upkeep of the camp as she can, afraid of seeming like dead weight. In a crisis like this, an unskilled housewife with a pre-teen daughter aren’t the most desirable members of the group. And with a husband like Ed, she has to work twice as hard to ensure people will tolerate the Peletiers.

 

She takes the animals from Lori, murmuring about how they’ll all eat well tonight, and brings them back to the table where she lays them out thoughtfully, considering her options. It shouldn’t be too hard to skin them- probably pretty difficult to screw up. But she could easily make a mess and pulverise the meat by experimenting. She grabs a kitchen knife and worries her lip, trying to figure out where to start as Sophia sits next to her, wide-eyed and full of morbid fascination.

 

“You know how to skin a rabbit?” Daryl’s voice next to her makes her start; she hadn’t even heard his approach.

 

It’s the first thing he’s said to her since they’ve been camped here together. He generally stays out of everyone’s way, doesn’t talk unless he has to, and she’s pretty much the same, what with Ed’s overbearing possessiveness. She meets his eyes only for a second before he looks away, back at the animals. Something about his skittishness is reassuring; despite his bluster he’s not threatening like his brother, or aggressively assertive like Shane, or domineering like Ed. He just wants people to leave him alone, she thinks. Must be hard, to suddenly be forced into such close quarters with a bunch of strangers. For herself, she’s enjoyed it; as much as you can enjoy living through a horrific infection where the dead rise and try to kill you. She’s enjoyed the company at any rate; the new friendships, socializing with people who aren’t Ed. She never really got to do that before. She gets the sense that it’s all pretty overwhelming for Daryl though. She’s smiles warmly at him, trying to convey gratitude for the food, and an apology for her lack of skills to prepare it.

 

He’s probably worried she’ll ruin the meat, waste all his hard work, and he looks about five seconds away from snatching it all back and doing it himself, but her smile seems to disarm him, and he reconsiders.

 

“Gonna need a shaper knife,” he murmurs, unclipping his own from his belt and handing it to her.

 

She takes it in surprise, still at a loss as to how to approach the animals lying on the table in front of her. He reaches over and grabs one of the rabbits, placing it on the tree stump they’ve been using to chop firewood and grabbing the axe resting on the ground beside it. With a couple of swift chops, he removes the legs, head, and tail. Sophia lets out a squeak of horror as the animal loses its head, but when he brings it back to the table it’s looking a whole lot less like a rabbit and more like something she might have seen on the cooking channel. He repositions the animal so it’s on its back, lifting the fur at the belly and pointing to where she should make the first cut. She follows his lead gingerly cutting through the skin.

 

“Slide the knife in careful so you don’t hit the stomach,” he says softly, his arm brushing hers as he moves to allow her better access. “Turn the blade so the sharp edge is up, then cut the skin all the way up to the neck.”

 

She does as he instructs, pleased with how easily the knife slips through the skin so she barely has to apply any pressure. She could’ve used a good knife like this in her kitchen.

 

“Now pull the skin back from the belly, and pop the legs out like you’re taking off a jacket.”

 

She smiles at the analogy, feeling more confident as the shedding of the rabbit’s skin quickly transforms it into something she’s more familiar with.

 

“Now grab it by the shoulders and pull the skin down over the back legs.”

 

She doesn’t pull hard enough the first time, still thinking of the thing as an animal simply shrugging off its ‘jacket’, and the skin barely gives. But this is familiar now, like prepping a leg of lamb or a turkey for Sunday roast. She’s more confident this time and pulls the rabbit cleanly out of its skin, leaving a big hunk of meat that looks very much like something she’d get at the butcher shop. He hums approvingly, and she can feel her confidence growing under his gaze.

 

She continues to follow his instruction, making another cut across the belly and carefully slicing open the stomach, pulling out the intestines with one good tug, then the heart and lungs. He puts the liver aside when she tries to move it away with the rest of the waste.

 

“That’s the best bit,” he corrects her gruffly, but there’s no malice to his voice; it sounds more like he’s letting her in on a secret, and she smiles warmly as he avoids her gaze, almost shyly, she thinks.

 

“Let’s go, baby brother!” Merle’s voice cuts across the camp, startling them from their reverie. “Quit your flirtin’, we got game to catch!”

 

She can see the heat rising along the back of his neck as he looks up sharply to glare at Merle, and she glances over nervously towards where Ed was sitting, feeling his eyes on her before she sees him.

 

“I can take it from here,” she smiles at Daryl, hoping to end the tutorial with as little fuss as possible. “Thank you for showing me.”

 

But Ed of course isn’t having any of it. She’s been standing shoulder to shoulder with Daryl, the close quarters necessary so they could work on the rabbit, but she tenses now at Ed’s approach and steps away quickly. She glances back at Daryl before ducking her head and trying to resist the urge to look at Ed’s rapidly approaching figure. She know Daryl must be able to easily read and interpret the sudden change in her demeanour; she’s all submissive head-bowing and averted eyes. It’s not exactly subtle, and the man’s a hunter, he’s used to reading the body language of animals and predicting their movements. She’s sure he can read people just fine too.

 

No one else in the camp seems to sense the brewing storm. She hates how sensitive she is to Ed’s moods; how she’s learned to read him a mile off; how she can see the beating coming just far enough away to know she can’t do anything about it. But no one else does. Except maybe Daryl, now he’s been dropped into the middle of it. He straightens warily as Ed approaches, growing taller and more defensive as Carol makes herself smaller. They each have their ways of protecting themselves.

 

Maybe it’s the reputation the Dixon brothers have at the camp, maybe it’s the knife still held in Daryl’s hand, maybe it’s the fact that Daryl’s an unknown quantity and he’s squared off to Ed, all of the gentleness of a minute ago replaced with bluster. Whatever the reason, Ed doesn’t seem eager to get into it with Daryl, so he focuses his attention on Carol instead. It’s better that way, she thinks. Ed’s her responsibility, her cross to bear. And she knows she can take it.

 

“Gonna skin all of those rabbits by yourself are you?” he sneers at her, his tone making it clear how little faith he has in her abilities.

 

He casts a dismissive look towards Daryl before turning his critical eye towards his wife. On the other side of the camp Merle waits impatiently, but Daryl lingers, as if unwilling to leave her to deal with this man alone. No one really knows what her relationship with Ed is like; she’s done a good job of hiding the worst of it. But they know he’s an asshole and treats her poorly; that he has no problem being disrespectful and belittling towards her in public. Suddenly she’s so sick of it; of hiding what he does, of covering for him, of taking it.

 

“Well someone’s got to,” she snaps back, surprising herself with the force behind her voice. “Are _you_ gonna do it?”

 

It’s a bold move, challenging Ed so publicly, and she knows he’s going to regret it later. But somehow she just doesn’t care. It’s a whole new world out there; the dead are rising, cities have fallen, it’s a goddamn state of emergency and they’re living in a communal camp in the mountains and she’s skinning rabbits for their dinner. Things are changing rapidly; and that brings not only threats but possibilities.

 

Ed’s just staring at her, flabbergasted that she would speak back to him. She just determinedly ignores him and focuses on the second rabbit, making it clear she has nothing further to say to her husband, and no interest in anything he might have to offer. Daryl snorts derisively and slides the knife across the table towards her as she sets to work on the next animal, before slinking off across the camp to join his brother. Ed is still just standing there, his mouth opening and closing a few times like a fish, but the battle’s already over, and the knife held tight in her hand seems to give him pause, as does the confidence with which she slides it into the skin of the next rabbit, slitting it belly to neck. He exits in a huff, and she lets out a shaky breath at his retreating form, looking up to watch Daryl heading into the trees with Merle. But he looks back toward camp just before he disappears into the forest and catches her eye, and she’s sure he smiles.

 

\--

 

The joy from the dream quickly slips into a cavernous emptiness when she wakes. At the time she had thought those early days terrifying, but she’d had no idea how bad things would get. With the faces of her long-dead friends, and some not so long-dead, fresh in her mind, she lies in bed in the half-light, struggling to breathe and calm the pounding in her chest. They’re all gone now; every one of the people in her dream, with the exception of Daryl. Maybe with the exception of Daryl...

 

The sky is just turning grey with the coming daylight when she finally gives up on falling back to sleep and swings her legs out of bed. She stretches stiffly, trying to work out the kinks in her back and neck and shoulders. The beds might be made of memory foam, but that doesn’t do a damn bit of good when she’s wound up like a corkscrew and so tense she might snap at any moment. Her bones ache with it; the constant readiness; the wakefulness; the waiting.

 

For a couple of days after they reached Alexandria it had been better. She hadn’t exactly allowed herself to relax, but being well-fed, having water, and even access to a shower and a change of clothes works wonders. She’d been able to stop worrying about survival, and start planning more long-term. For those few days, her biggest concern was how to stop the Alexandrians from screwing it all up. Now her concern is how to stop anyone else from dying.

 

When she does sleep, her dreams are full of Erin and Shelly and murderous strangers with Ws carved in their foreheads. Or of more innocent times and the many people she’s lost along the way. When she’s awake, her mind is constantly occupied by the herd of walkers just outside their gates; with wondering if the walls will hold; if there are more enemies outside who are coming to hurt them; whether the people inside can keep their shit together or whether they will prove to be the next threat.

 

And then there’s the nagging fear that she hasn’t acknowledged; that she can’t acknowledge. So many members of her family are not here; are missing, and no one knows if they’re alive. Daryl is more than capable of surviving on his own, she knows this. Even when they moved around as a group outside, he typically would wander the surrounding area alone, hunting or scouting or looking for water. She knows this in an intellectual sense, but her emotions run in another direction, the ache of uncertainty a constant companion. It seems like everyone is dying lately. Of course it was always true that anyone could die at any time; they’d lost Tyreese, Bob, and Beth in all-too recent memory. But in the last few days they’ve lost half of Alexandria it seems. She can’t do a damn thing about Daryl; he’s out there somewhere, maybe with Sasha and Abraham and Glenn, maybe alone, maybe already dead. She can only try and control what happens within these walls. And she’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that no one else dies, believing that if she’s fighting in here, he must be fighting out there.

 

She slips down the hallway, peeking quietly into the Grimes’ room on the way. Rick’s stretched out on the bed next to his son, Judith sandwiched in between them. They’re all still fully clothed; none of them have started getting changed for bed yet, or sleeping in separate rooms, the instinct for constant readiness still with them. But they have started taking their boots off before climbing into bed at least. Carl’s getting tall, Carol thinks. The last year and a half have seen him grow up, in so many ways. He looks more like Rick every day. Not just in his looks, but in the way he holds himself, his expressions. There’s a lot of Lori about him too. And Judith looks more like her every day. Her dream has brought a lot of feelings to the surface, and she pushes the thoughts of her long-gone friend out of her mind. It doesn’t do to dwell on the past. She likes to think that someday they’ll be a time for grieving, and for remembering. But there’s no time for that now. There’s barely time to draw breath before the next disaster is on them, and thinking of her dead friends just reminds her how much you can lose and yet still go on living. There is no end to the pain that be heaped upon them.

 

Downstairs she boils the kettle to make coffee; it’s just this awful freeze-dried stuff, but it’s better than nothing. It gives the illusion of a familiar morning routine, and she finds her body still responds to the warmth and the bitterness, waking up and becoming a little more alert like muscle memory or a placebo effect. As she listens to the water rumbling, she watches the dawn coming, the sun slowly reddening the horizon. Up on the lookout by the gate, a lone figure stands on watch. Even from this distance she recognizes Maggie’s silhouette. The woman hasn’t moved from that spot since Michonne came back the day before and told her about losing Glenn.

 

“That’s the direction he’d come from,” was all she’d said when she climbed to the platform and began her vigil.

 

Carol dumps a couple of spoons of the freeze dried crap into a thermos and fills it with water and powdered creamer. Then she stuffs a packet of dried fruit and nuts in one pocket, and some home-baked cookies in the other. It’s a weird kind of breakfast, but it’s food.

 

She scales the ladder by the fence quickly, the thermos tucked under one arm, and joins Maggie quietly on the platform. The walkers’ constant din continues below them, like waves crashing on the shore.

 

“Thought you might be hungry,” Carol passes her the snacks as she settles next to Maggie.

 

Maggie takes the offerings with a grateful smile. “I didn’t want to leave, just in case I missed something.”

 

Carol nods, understanding, her eyes scanning the empty road ahead. No sign so far. No cars, no bike. Just more walkers. She pours the coffee into the lid of the thermos and passes it to Maggie, before taking a long slow sip of the hot liquid herself. They sit quietly together for a while.

 

“When all this started,” Carol starts finally, her eyes still on the horizon, “we were camped just outside of Atlanta. Me and Sophia, Lori and Carl, Dale, Andrea, T-Dog. And Daryl and Glenn. Glenn used to do runs into the city, scout around, see what he could find. He always went alone, said it was easier for him to get away if things went bad. He didn’t have to worry about anyone else slowing him down or getting in his way. He always came back just fine. First time things went really wrong was when he took a group in with him. He said always worked better on his own. But he also found Rick that day, pinned down by a herd in the street. Saved his life. And then they both saved everyone else. They got split up, and Rick and the others piled into a van, made it back to camp all together. But Glenn comes tearing up by himself in a bright red Dodge Challenger he’d hot-wired in the city, with the alarm blaring the whole way.”

 

She can’t help but grin at the memory of Glenn’s enthusiastic whoops, and catches Maggie’s smile in her sidelong glance.

 

“He’ll be back,” she finishes firmly. “He’s faced worse before. We all have. And he’s good at working alone.”

 

They sit together in companionable silence for a while longer, sipping their coffee and scanning the forest.

 

“Daryl will be fine too,” Maggie says finally, with the same confidence with which Carol spoke of Glenn. “He’s always going off by himself. He’s tough, and smart. They’ll both make it back soon.”

 

“Yeah and can’t you just imagine what they’ll have to say about the mess we’ve got ourselves into here?” Carol responds dryly.

 

“Can’t leave us alone for a minute without us getting into shit,” Maggie laughs, and it’s the first time Carol’s seen her really smile since before Glenn disappeared. Maybe since before Beth died.

 

She doesn’t know if Maggie believes her words. She doesn’t know if she does either. But they have to try. If they don’t, the fear will take them over, and then they’ll lose everything. And she can’t lose anyone else.

 

\--

 

It’s late in the morning when Rick calls her over, says he wants to talk to Morgan, have him plead his case. She’s already told Rick about Morgan sparing the wolves; his unwillingness to accept that they had to kill. She knows Rick doesn’t want to exile Morgan; the one time he did that, it ended up being a huge mistake, and he’s being trying to make up for what he did to Carol since she’d rejoined them. But Morgan was different. Rick thought he couldn’t trust Carol because she’d been willing to kill. Morgan’s a liability because he won’t.

 

She joins Michonne at the kitchen table while Rick heads out to find Morgan. If Daryl were here, he’d probably join them too; the three of them are Rick’s closest confidents. But if there had to be some silver lining for Daryl’s absence, perhaps it’s the fact that he doesn’t have to sit through this. He wants this place to work, and she’s sure that Morgan’s idealism appeals to him; the idea of not having to kill, that people can be spared, that there are still good people out there in the world. Something has changed in Daryl; he’s started to believe in all this. He’d needed it, after Beth, she realizes. He almost lost it, lost hope, seeing innocence snuffed out so senselessly. Now he has a purpose, something to fight for again.

 

Michonne wants this place too; she’s argued with Rick about it, pushed him to take a chance, but always been ready to back him if things didn’t go how they wanted. When they arrived in Alexandria, it had seemed natural to Carol that she and Rick and Daryl would separate themselves from the others, allowing them to relax and to enjoy this place while the three of them remained alert and wary. But maybe it should have been her, Rick, and Michonne. The other woman has made it clear the lengths she’s willing to go to. What she’ll do for Rick, and Carl and Judith. She’s ready to react, but she doesn’t want to force the issue. Daryl’s the same. But the growing rift Carol's felt between herself and Daryl doesn’t seem to be reflected in Rick and Michonne. Maybe those two are more aligned in their positions; maybe Carol and Daryl just can’t see eye to eye any more. Maybe Carol’s alone in that now; being willing to be proactive. It’s not a position she relishes; she doesn’t want to do the things she does, but someone has to.

 

She and Rick and Michonne, they’ve all been willing to go to those limits in the past. To do the things that no one else has wanted to do. To do what’s necessary. It’s fitting that they would be the three to decide Morgan’s fate; a man who went so far beyond the limit as to completely lose himself, and now to come so far back in the opposite direction that he’s willing to endanger the people she loves, so as not to lose himself again.

 

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks warily when he’s finally seated at the table. He knows, of course. This is his trial. He has to answer for his actions, or lack thereof.

 

“When I was coming back,” Rick explains, “I tried to cut of the herd with the RV, lead the walkers away. But five of those people with the Ws in their forehead? They stopped me. They tried to kill me, shot up the RV.” The implication is clear; Rick almost died, and the herd made it to Alexandria because those wolves were able to attack. “Carol says she saw you. That you wouldn’t kill those people.”

 

“Did you let any of them go?” She knows the answer even before she asks the question, but she needs him to say it. She needs Rick to understand what they’re dealing with.

 

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes I did. I didn’t wanna kill five people I didn’t have to kill.”

 

His deliberately obtuse response is enraging. He might think her cold and callous for what she did, killing those people without hesitation, but what about his inaction? Watching their people die horribly and refusing to end the ones who did it?

 

“They _burned_ people alive!” she growls, fighting to keep her voice controlled.

 

“Yeah….” He has a hard time looking at her, she notices; he focuses on Rick most of the time. Perhaps he thinks they’re more alike and is hopeful of a sympathetic ear. Perhaps he sees that he and Carol are just too fundamentally opposed. But he hasn’t seen what Rick has had to do. What they’ve all lived through. “Why didn’t you kill me, Rick? Back in King County? Pulled a knife on you. I stabbed you. So why did you kill me? Was it because I saved you after the hospital?”

 

“Because I knew who you were,” Rick answers simply.

 

“That day I would’ve killed you soon as look at you. And I tried. But you? You let me live. And I was there to help Aaron and Daryl. But see, if I wasn’t there, if they died, maybe those wolves wouldn’t have been able to come back here. I don’t know what’s right any more. Because I did wanna kill those men. I seen what they did, what they would’ve keep doin. I knew I could end it. But I also know that people can change. Because everyone sitting here has. All life is precious, and that idea, that idea changed me, it brought me back, and it keeps me living.”

 

It takes all of Carol’s self restraint not to jump at him then. There’s no logic to find here. Life isn’t a series of karmic balancing; or an outcome you can guess from a series of decisions. You do what you have to in order to survive. And you keep doing that, and you keep surviving. You don’t take risks. It’s not a question of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’; those concepts grow more amorphous every day. They don’t have the luxury of doing what’s right.

 

“I just don’t think it can be that easy,” Michonne cuts in.

 

“It’s not easy.”

 

Michonne bristles. “I wasn’t saying that.”

 

They know the world isn’t so black and white any more, that you have to figure out your way through the greys. Morgan can resist that all he wants, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

 

“I know,” he responds contritely, sorry for the dismissive way he responded to her. “And I’ve thought about letting that idea go. But I don’t want to.”

 

“You may have to,” Michonne responds firmly. “Things aren’t as simple as four words. I don’t think they ever were.”

 

Morgan looks resigned, and very tired and sad. Underneath her frustration and anger, Carol can’t help but feel bad for him. She knows Rick and Michonne do too. He’s struggling with the same questions they all are, trying to figure out where their limits are in this brave new world. Carol has known for a while now that she has no limits, not where her family’s concerned. There’s literally nothing she wouldn’t do. The thought is so terrifying she tries not to dwell on it. And Morgan’s been there; to that place where all bets are off, where there are no limits. But he wasn’t fighting for anyone; he’d already lost everything. She wonders if maybe that kind of willingness to kill is only dangerous when you’ve got nothing to fight for; when there’s no reason for it. When there’s just the urge to destroy. To clear.

 

“Do you think I don’t belong here?” Morgan asks quietly.

 

“Making it now,” Rick responds slowly, “do you really think you can do that without getting blood on your hands?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

\--

 

She keeps a close eye on him after their meeting. Rick wants to think on things further, and they can’t act right now anyways; if they were going to exile Morgan, they can’t until the herd of walkers is gone from their door. Rick and Michonne retire to the porch to talk and plan, and Carol takes her leave. She’s said her piece, and she knows Rick will heed her advice. But Michonne is his closest confident now, and he needs to be able to talk things through with her, to get his head straight. Carol trusts that Michonne won’t stear him wrong.

 

And anyway, she isn’t totally sure that exile is what she would even advise. Morgan is an asset, there’s no doubt about it. He’s strong and level headed and he can fight. He’s got no qualms with killing walkers, and that’s a big deal right now when they’re surrounded and fenced in with a bunch of suburbanites who don’t even know how to hold a knife, much less burry it in a walker’s skull.

 

At this moment, they need all the help they can get. He made some decisions that contributed to this awful situation, no doubt about it. Maybe the walkers wouldn’t have made it back here if Morgan hadn’t let those wolves escape so they could go and attack Rick. But she also wouldn’t have made it to the armory without him, and Father Gabriel would certainly be dead. And he’d saved both Rick and Daryl, two of the people she loved most in the world; that had to count for something.

 

But did it really count for anything when the calls he’s making now put people in danger? If there was a way to ensure he wouldn’t take matters into his own hands, wouldn’t make those kinds of decisions on his own, maybe he could stay. She knows what exile is like; she’s experienced it first hand, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. The despair of those days, feeling so horribly alone, grieving for the friends she thought she’d never see again, were some of the darkest days of her life. And yet, if it came down to it, if Morgan proved to be enough of a liability, she would do whatever it takes to ensure her family was safe.

 

So it’s with a feeling of dread that she follows him as he makes his way furtively down the street to the basement of the empty house that serves as a makeshift jail. She can guess even before she gets the gate open who he must be keeping, even as she doesn’t want to believe it’s true.

 

But she can see it in his eyes when he catches her at the door and moves to block her way.

  
“Who the hell do you have in there?”


End file.
